Greetings, friends. Just a note to let you know my poem “The Daisy Ring” has been published at LatinosUSA. Editor Michelle Navajas does such a wonderful job of sharing various writers’ offerings with her readers and it’s always an honor to be published by her. I’m sincerely grateful, Michelle.
“Hmm?” she murmured Her gaze caught somewhere In the rainy neon night-world Beyond the coffee shop window Her fingers weightless Feather-like In my hand Ethereal Furnace-hot
“I found thee in a faerie copse Alighting on each flower fair And as I ‘proached thee in the hopes Of snaring thee in lovers’ ropes Thou disappeared into thin air…”
She looked at me then A faint smile teasing Her lips “Your poetry is terrible,” she said…
This ongoing initiative showcases blogs with fewer than 500 subscribers which I think are deserving of more attention. Hopefully these blogs will spark your interest and you’ll check them out. It’s my way of spreading awareness of talented writers whose work I admire.
This week’s featured blog is Fata Cu Suflet De Cerneală (The Girl with the Ink Soul) by Romanian poet Bianca Alina. My first experience with Bianca’s poetry occurred last year when I saw some of her work published at the various Masticadores literary sites. I was immediately entranced by the passion and intensity of her romantic poetry, her deft skill with words and her deep understanding of the human heart and all it desires. Bianca’s poems speak to the secret yearnings of the heart, the longing for closeness, the sorrow of heartbreak and the singular joy of intimate love. Her words paint beautiful, poignant panoramas of human relationships and emotions and have a unique way of touching the hearts and souls of readers. What’s more, Bianca’s blog also features her original nature photography, and gorgeous images abound. Bianca’s talent is boundless and rejuvenating, and her universal themes of love resonate with all of us.
I asked if Bianca could share a bit about herself:
“I live in Romania. I am very passionate about poetry, learning new languages, and nature photography.
My mother is the one who taught me that language has power. I inherited from her the passion for writing.
I wrote my first poem when I was 11 years old. At 16 years old, I had a few poems published in the high school magazine. I continued writing poetry throughout my university years, but I didn’t publish any poems online. Then, I got my first job and I stopped writing for a long time.
I returned to poetry in 2022, when I started writing on my blog:
Bianca’s poetry reminds us of the love and passion we all carry in our hearts, that desire and intimacy are powerful emotions that both hurt and heal, and that the magic of romance enhances our lives. Take some time and indulge yourselves in Fata Cu Suflet De Cerneală (The Girl with the Ink Soul), where the finest poetry of the heart awaits.
Let’s spread the love and support our fellow bloggers.
This ongoing initiative showcases blogs with fewer than 500 subscribers which I think are deserving of more attention. Hopefully these blogs will spark your interest and you’ll check them out. It’s my way of spreading awareness of talented writers whose work I admire.
This week’s featured blog is Peggy Writes, a truly wonderful inspirational blog by Peggy Stroud. I first became aware of Peggy’s blog a couple of years ago when she left a nice comment on one of my posts. While checking out her blog, I immediately noticed a couple of things: Peggy is an excellent writer, and her sincerity, honesty and enthusiasm really shine.
I was struck by the easy flow of her words and how she conveys important messages in a seemingly effortless manner. Anyone who writes well knows that effective writing is difficult to achieve and requires not only talent but years of practice. Peggy’s writing shows a dedication to her craft that produces results that are both educational and enjoyable to behold.
Peggy’s natural inclination to support and encourage others is boundless, her kindness refreshing. I often refer to her as a “light-bringer” due to the hope offered by her messages. She is someone I consider a dear friend, as well.
I asked Peggy if she could provide a few words about her blog and herself:
“I have always loved working with children, reading and writing. After a much-loved career in teaching, a blessed time as a stay-at-home mom, and a stint as bookkeeper for my husband’s business, I and my husband retired to the foothills of Virginia. I began my new calling as a Christian blogger and hopeful children’s book writer. I publish two blogs each week, one for adults and one for children so that families can be in God’s word together.”
I’m well aware of Peggy’s aspirations of publishing children’s books. It’s my great hope that she succeeds in this quest. Her talent and dedication are obviously apparent, and her background as a teacher and mother offers her a uniquely qualified perspective. So, never give up on your dreams, Peggy!
I hope you’ll take some time and explore Peggy Writes. It’s a place of light and hope.
Let’s spread the love and support our fellow bloggers.
“My Jade Remembrance” (c) 2019 by Michael L. Utley
I used to know you 9,000 tears ago A tear for every mile That kept me from you A tear for every moment Not spent with you A tear for every hope Not shared with you 9,000 tears
A jade remembrance For my brown-eyed love A dusky green heart On a silver chain I keep in my pocket It was for you Everything was for you Everything I had Everything gone except My jade remembrance
You were already dead Before I ever met you Your path etched in stone I was just a detour A distraction on your way Into darkness A temporary reprieve An unplanned respite For the lost girl The girl who would learn to fly Or die trying
And I was the lost boy The boy who had Never seen the sun Until I saw you The boy whose shattered heart Had one last beat for you A final crescendo for my Brown-eyed love
I couldn’t fix you You weren’t broken You were destroyed Crushed by the weight of Damnation Hounded by demons Unknown to me Yet you smiled at me And pulled me from My own abyss And I loved you
My jade remembrance Are you still there Did you close your eyes And take that leap of faith Did you learn to fly Or did you die trying You didn’t just take your life You took mine too
There are no ripples On this frozen pond The puk-puk-puk of The pebble Skittering on iced skin Dampened by Frost-thick air Breath caught short In lung-numbed gasps Silent words Suspended In wintry sighs Eyes pools of Frigid tear-prisms Bitter empty gelid rainbows Where are you
You missed our flight to Tokyo The cherry blossoms whispered your name As Fuji, incurious and remote Gazed white-helmed At my solitary shadow My empty hand Holding more of you Than my heart could bear We did not walk Beneath flicker-flamed Paper lanterns On blood-red bridges Spanning koi ponds Under the spring moon The rising sun Sought to kiss your cheek But was denied As I was denied
You missed auroras Over Iceland The Arctic colder In your absence The night sky draped In shimmering iridescent Thought The emerald musings of some distant god Snagged in dark desolation My own thoughts of you Caught in my own Desolation
You missed the candent sands Of Morocco Capricious zephyrs Erasing my footprints In a desert bereft of Your footprints We did not dance In the summer swelter Beneath date palms And stars that sought To light your way But failed Your body absent In my arms The scent of your hair A distant memory which Hot breezes scatter In the night
You missed our train To the Rockies Where larkspur and columbine Awaited you with open arms And later mourned in silence My singular form without you By my side We did not hold hands in Flower-burst mountain meadows Azure lakes reflected only My lone countenance As conifers murmured Demurely in cool breezes Wondering if you Would ever arrive
You missed our drive Through New England hills Autumn maple and hemlock A conflagration burning for you Yearning for you The birches and beeches smoldering In my heart Red-orange-gold leaves Suiciding in silent sadness Loneliness wearing my face Stalks these woods You are nowhere to be found
You missed my arrival In Singapore The airport a swarm Of faces A blur of oceanic humanity As I searched for one safe harbor One stormless island In this storm of chaos Your face A lighthouse to guide me home Your beacon never appearing No fog horn guiding me safely Through treacherous surf Your bottomless brown eyes Nowhere Your smile cut roughly from this mural Missing A ragged hole where you should be In my life
Perhaps you were a Phantom All along
Puk-puk-puk No ripples on this frozen pond Not enough pebbles remain To last until springtime thaw One ripple is all I ask One ripple to finally reach you I’ll save a pebble Just in case
She had that look about her again Eyes like chips of coruscating amber Caught in the westering sun Her over-there gaze snagged On some distant memory Like thorn-caught thread Hands prim and pale In her denim lap Amid foxtails and dandelions And oak shadows
Things move too fast When they move too slowly The heat that summer was unbearable A bludgeon wielded by a chrome sky Its merciless swath pounding Everyone everything into submission We were not spared
I could reach toward her forever And never touch her I’ll tell you in time to come, she’d say Her tired smile dying before It reached her eyes Time to come never coming Never time enough Time running out
Let’s sit and enjoy the shade, she’d say The sun slipping languidly Into oblivion Her face haloed In a warm orange aura My ephemeral love Ensconced in flames Flickering Flickering
Broken pieces of her Litter the oak-shadowed grass One touch and she’d shatter One embrace and she’d be All over the place Delicate balance was The ruse of muses who Knew nothing of reality Who knew nothing of Love and sickness And the terrible nectar Of the tainted honeysuckle
Even the birds are quiet
There is no darkness As black as love No pit as plumbless As that filled with regret Her brown eyes Smiling and weeping at once Succumbing to demons Unknown to me So much of her slate blank Her portrait only half-finished Before the paint dried out And the canvas rent asunder
Broken pieces of her Litter the oak-shadowed grass I used to collect them Their razor edges Slicing my hands bloody Only a few remain Among the foxtails and dandelions Her voice only an echo now I’ll tell you in time to come
“The Snow That Never Falls” (c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley
The snow that never falls cannot assuage The sorrow of the autumn’s grim defeat There is no balm For open wounds No gilded cup To slake the dying season’s thirst No whispered words to quell the fear Of failing heart Forsaken soul Abandoned hope There is no honor in autumn’s demise In absence of the snow that never falls
The tears that never fall have silenced me Left desiccated bitter memories Of desert sand And alkali That sting my eyes Abrading zephyrs scour my soul Abrasive hardpan sears my soles I walk through life An empty husk Of what I was There is no succor for these blinded eyes In absence of the tears that never fall
The love that never comes has passed me by And stranded me along the mountain path The chilly wind Bereft of warmth Has sundered life There is no trace of hart nor hind Nor shadowed copse in which to rest Treacherous scree And empty tarns And granite bones Epitomize my solitary life In absence of the love that never comes
The spring that never comes can never heal The grievous pain inflicted on the earth By autumn’s death And winter’s drought And dearth of care For those who walk the silent path Through torrid flats and frigid slopes In search of what They’ll never find And stumble on In darkness spurned by sun and moon and stars In absence of the spring that never comes
Silent Pariah 